


Gimbal

by redfive86



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redfive86/pseuds/redfive86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What if you're scheduled to get hit by a bus in three years?"</p><p>We all say foolish things in our youth which we later come to regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimbal

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the piece of plastic in his hands.  He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, just stared dumbly at the outdated piece of junk.  It was so insignificant, its magical uses spent so many years ago, and so old it barely had any possible practical use either.  The damn gimbal.  He hated it so much.  This wasn’t just a general distaste, this was the pure, unadulterated hated which only comes from the depths of the soul.  It was ridiculous, leveling so much anger at a stupid little piece of plastic.  But he couldn't get past it.  Memories rushed in his ears, all he could hear was his stupid, stupid younger self yelling “What if you’re scheduled to get hit by a bus in three years?”  She hadn’t, but now this useless thing was taking her from him, much sooner than it should.  Hatred coursed through his veins like starfire.  He glared at his hands until he was convinced he could see the face of the Lone One laughing back at him.

_“Chronic myelogenous leukaemia,” the doctor had said.  No family history of it, she was awful young, she hadn’t had any exposure to ionizing radiation, had she?  Progressing much faster than normal, he’d said. Typically people with her presentation survive five years or longer after diagnosis, but I’m afraid the cells in your tumor are much more aggressive than would be anticipated for your age.  It’s almost as if someone pushed fast forward to accelerate the advance of your disease._

__

It was unfathomable that he could be losing her.  The concept floated at the edges of his consciousness but he refused to acknowledge it.  He couldn’t be losing her already.  They hadn’t saved the Universe yet.  There were projects to finish.  They’d just started their life together; he’d only had his wife for two years.  Not only could he no longer remember life without her in it, he couldn’t imagine life without her.  She’d been a near-constant fixture in his soul since he was eleven.  There could be no survival without her.  He shuddered at the thought.  Spells wouldn’t be complete without her voice raised with his, challenging him and dragging him along for the ride.

_Their friends spent Valentine’s Day at nice restaurants or weekend getaways.  For their second Valentine’s Day, he and Nita had gone to the moon to watch the earthrise.  He’d felt guilty when she pulled the brightly wrapped box from her claudication.  They'd agreed on no gifts- with him still in grad school and her fresh out and in a new job, money was tight.  She’d laughed at his guilty expression.  “Don’t worry,” she’d chuckled, “This is purely of sentimental value.”  He’d opened the box carefully, setting the paper under his leg to keep it from bouncing away in the low gravity.  (It wouldn’t do to start littering on the moon already, that would happen soon enough).  Inside the box, nestled under some tissue paper had been the gimbal.  She’d laughed at his surprise.  “My life was bound to this once.”  A pause. “I’d like my life to be bound to yours like mine was once bound to that.”  The next day he’d called Carmela for jewelry help.  The most important things in life made swallowing your pride easy._

The anger started right behind his heart.  It pooled there, dripping down into his stomach.  It spread sinuously up his spinal column, flared out his shoulders.  It slipped up his neck and set his tattered brain on fire.  The rage throbbed in his veins like a pulse.  He was drunk with anger- the world went fuzzy around him, he was so caught up in the fire blazing away at his soul.  He clenched his fist tighter around the gimbal.  The edges of the plastic cut new creases into his palm.  The pain brought the world sharply back into focus.  He choked down sobs and held onto the little thing with all his might, as if by clutching it closer he could put years of her life back into it, back into her time with him.

_“She’ll be in surgery for at least twelve hours, Mr. Rodriguez.  Why don’t you go home and try and get a little rest?”  There was a voice.  He thought he heard it, thought it might be directed at him.  He clutched the arm of the chair tighter, his buoy in the hurricane of fear around him.  What was it saying? “You’re completely worn out, it will do her good to see you looking well when she wakes up.  We don’t want to put excess strain on her.  Can we call someone to take you home?”  He hadn’t responded.  He remained, fingers white around the armrest.  Some time; and there was Carmela.  She’d gathered him up and deposited him at home in the apartment, where it smelled of her._

And now here he was, glaring at the gimbal, more lost than he’d ever felt when Ponch had taken him walking in the darkness.  He breathed in sorrow and blew out rage.  Alternating between the two, his chest filled, felt like it would tear in two across the middle at any second.  With tears at the edges of his eyes he felt it snap, felt the buildup break and the Universe come crashing down around him.  He launched the gimbal at the wall with all his remaining strength and threw himself back on the bed, buried his arm in his elbow, and sobbed himself to sleep.

The next time he threw the gimbal, it was into a six foot deep pit in the ground.  He stood by the side of the grave paralyzed with shock and let the gimbal tumble from his hand, clattering onto the casket.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to L for the rapid beta! All remaining mistakes are through willful ignorance of her suggestions.


End file.
